The Good Fight
by tider58
Summary: Makeup and dark glasses can't hide Pam's dark secrets for long. Jim knows her too well.
1. Chapter 1

There was no way to hide the black eye. She applied more makeup than she was accustomed to wearing, concealer and foundation and powder, for good measure, and studied herself critically in the mirror. Worse. Much, much worse. So, what were the other options? Dark glasses? She could say she'd had her eyes dilated and had to wear them because the fluorescents were too bright. Who would question that? She snorted bitterly. Certainly not Michael, the king of tact, or Kelly, the queen of keeping her mouth shut or ...

She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddery breath. What else was there? She had a pretty well-stocked bank of sick days saved up because Pam Morgan Beesly was nothing if not dependable. She could give it one more day and night to fade. Park herself on the couch in front of the mind-numbing lineup of daytime shows and keep an ice pack on the bruise and hope _really hard _that it would be coverable by tomorrow. Tempting, but maybe for the wrong reason. Mostly she didn't want to face Roy. He had kept her up most of the night—not that sleep would've come easy anyway—with phone calls and messages, pleading into her answering machine for her to pick up the phone already, he'd said he was sorry and he was going to keep calling until she picked up the phone and let him have his say. Lying in bed in the dark, tears long since dried on her cheeks, she said aloud to Roy's beer-slurred voice, "Didn't you already have your say, you asshole?"

If she stayed away from the office today it would be less because of potential embarrassment and more because Roy would be sure to confront her there. And that was unthinkable, especially if she was able to come up with a suitable lie to explain her face and then he chose to come up and make a scene. People would start to catch on, no matter how well she'd covered her bases. She reflected briefly on the basketball game in the warehouse, the not-quite-overt animosity between Jim and Roy, the elbow to the lip that could be written off as accidental. She couldn't fan the flames of that tension; she couldn't let Jim get involved.

So, she was left with freak accident. She'd walked into a door. Or ... that sounded stupid; she needed something more complicated, with the ring of truth born of "that's just strange enough to be true."

Got it.

She leaned over the bathroom sink and began to gingerly scrub away at the cakey mess of makeup around her left eye. Roy wouldn't make her cower here in her apartment like she had cowered in his, last night, when his anger had extended into the red zone. She would go to work, she would lie, she would make them—him—believe her story. As for Roy, when she was ready to face him she would. On her terms. She wanted him to sweat a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi there. The first "chapter" was sort of a test run, to gauge interest and to see if I'd be able to wring a full-fledged story out of this idea. This is my first fic in The Office fandom (though I'm not new to the show) and I did a little research to make sure this theme hasn't been done to death. I did only come across one other story about Abusive Roy, and I didn't read it because I didn't want to be inadvertently influenced. So, here goes the next part; if you're interested I would love to hear it so I'll know if I should keep posting. I thrive on encouragement! Thanks!**

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The key, she found, was looking busy. Jim was less apt to wander over to chat if she kept her head down and a studious frown on her face. She felt him looking at her from time to time, and had to force herself, against the almost desperate part of her that longed to glimpse his contagious smile, to absorb his soothing demeanor, not to look up.

It couldn't go on like that forever. Lunchtime rolled around, and he sidled up to the front desk and leaned against it, toward her. "Psst," he hissed. "I'm worried about you Beesly."

Reflexively, she jerked her head up to meet his eyes. "What? Why?" she asked, and the words came out too sharp, too urgent. She nervously tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He gave her a surprised smile. "Because," he said. "It is ten after noon, Dwight has been on a _hilarious_ rampage all morning over his Rolodex—somehow all the cards got replaced with candy wrappers—and Michael thinks there's a rabid squirrel trapped in the air vents. And in spite of all this entertainment, I don't think I've seen you crack the first smile."

Relieved, she allowed herself a small smile.

He cocked his head to the side, appraising. "Hmm … not a terrible facsimile, but not exactly the patented Pam Beesly grin."

"Candy wrappers, huh?"

"Yeah, it was the damnedest thing."

The phone rang then, and he propped his elbows on the desk to wait. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam." A long pause, during which she felt and he saw the color drain from her face. The surrounding pallor made the bruise around her eye stand out sharply, like a silhouette. She was silent for a few long moments, and Jim watched her carefully, his brows knitted together as he tried to make sense of the one-sided conversation. "No. I won't do that. No, you won't do that either. This is a place of business, Roy, this is my job. You may not care about yours but I care about mine. Don't. Don't!" She glanced up at Jim and then twisted her chair away slightly, lowering her voice but still sounding furious. "Okay, listen. If I agree to coffee—_just coffee_—after work will you stay where you are? Fine. Done."

She hung up and took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. Then she looked at Jim, pierced by the concern in his eyes, and snapped at him because he was _there_ and he was _safe_. "Privacy, Jim. Ever hear of it?"

He held both hands up apologetically. "Hey, whoa, I didn't even hear anything. Were you on the phone just now?"

She glared at him for a moment, taking in his faux-innocent expression, hands still raised as if she were holding him at gunpoint. She huffed a little laugh. "I'm sorry, it's not you. It's …"

"None of my business," he finished. "Care to join me for lunch? Come on, Pam, don't make me eat with Kelly and Ryan."

There were fewer jokes at her expense than she'd expected. In a place where the boss had once cooked his foot on a George Foreman grill, banging one's eye against the protruding ceramic soap dish while scrubbing out the bathtub didn't seem like such a stretch. She could sense Jim's concern, boiling right under the surface of his thin jokes and bluff bravado. It was in the way he looked at her when she looked away; she could feel that gaze lingering like a caress on her face, could see through the corner of her eye that his smile faded the second he thought she wasn't watching.

He approached her desk again, per usual, a couple of minutes before 5, assuming they'd walk out together as they always did. "Headed out?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, meeting Roy downstairs. Let me just …" she trailed off. It took her an inordinate amount of time to shut down her computer and gather her things. As she reached for her purse she noticed that her hand was shaking. Unfortunately, so did he.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and understanding passed between them.

"What's going on, Pam?" he asked, but there was no real question in the question.

"Nothing," she lied automatically. "I'm just not feeling so well today."

"That's it?" His tone flat, again.

"That's it."

She started for the door but Jim held his arm out, staying her as Kevin and Oscar passed by with muttered "see ya tomorrow"s all around.

When they were gone, the office was deserted. Jim still had his arm out, not touching her but blocking the path.

"I have to go, Jim. He's waiting."

"Well maybe he can wait a little longer," Jim said, and his tone was something she'd never heard from him before. "What's going on, Pam?"

"I—it's just—we're just having a little disagreement, we're going to go have coffee and try to work it out, okay? I don't know why you're being weird."

"Don't you?" Jim raised a hand toward her and she couldn't help it—she flinched. And they both froze, eyes locked on one another, hers filled with tears, his with something deep and unreadable. The hand he had raised continued, much slower now, and gently brushed against the ugly patch of purple under her eye.

"No," she said, not knowing what she was denying. That Roy hit her? That Jim knew? That she'd let it go this far and had no idea how to find normal again, if that were even possible? "Jim, no."

His jaw worked as he clenched his teeth against whatever emotions were coursing through him.

"Roy did this to you."

She shook her head. Kept shaking it, as if by denying the obvious she could somehow make it not have happened.

"I need you to say it, Pam. I need you to tell me."

"It's not true," she pleaded. "Jim, no."

"Why would you protect him?" he asked, bewildered. "Why would you protect that—"

"I'm protecting _you_!" she exploded, the tears that had been building bursting through and coursing down her cheeks freely. "I don't want you involved, Jim. I don't want you to go running out there with some knight on a white horse notion of defending my honor! I want—I _need_ you to back off. I need you to be Jim. Please. _Please,_ just be Jim."

He pulled her against him and she sort of collapsed on his chest, crying into his shirt as he held her. His lips pressed roughly into the top of her head, and they stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Then the phone on the desk rang, and she pulled away with a little gasp that made Jim want to cry. Or, preferably, to beat Roy's face to a bloody pulp.

"That's probably—he probably wonders why I'm not out there yet."

Jim gently but firmly moved Pam out of the way and started for the desk. His hand was on the phone when she grasped his wrist and stopped him with a "Please, Jim! I am _begging_ you."

He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before opening them again and taking her chin in his hand, lifting her face up so she had to look at him. "I'm begging you, too," he said. "If you won't let me stop this, then you have to. _You have to, Pam_."

"I know."

He shook his head. "Not good enough. I don't want you to _know_; I want you to _do_."

"I have to go," she said, her voice small. "Can you—do you mind giving us a few minutes' head start?"

"Do I mind?"

"Will you?" she amended. "Please."

"Go," he said. "But Beesly, I swear to God—"

"I know," she said again. Then, impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

He watched her walk out and felt as though his heart were being squeezed in a vise. When the door closed behind her he sank into her chair and put his face in his hands.

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**Is anyone reading? Shall I continue? **


	3. Chapter 3

**You guys are awesome. Thanks for the reviews and encouragement. Always gives me that extra little nudge I need to keep the wheels turning. I'm glad you seem to like the story so far and hope you'll stick around for more. Let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!

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It wasn't like him to drink alone, but here he sat in his now-rumpled work clothes, his second Scotch on the rocks sweating away on the bar counter in front of him. He'd come straight here from the office, having given in to Pam's tearful request for a few minutes' head start—he knew that if he saw Roy any time in the near future (say, the next 75 years or so) he wouldn't be able to control himself. This seething rage, hot and searing and all-encompassing, wasn't like him either. He just couldn't shake it.

Because he kept seeing her face behind his eyelids. Her beautiful face, delicate features, sweet, shy smile. Her hand trembling like a leaf in a strong breeze as she reached for her purse. The shiny and puffy bruise marring her otherwise-flawless skin, the tears glistening in her eyes as she begged him to—what, _accept_ this? Is that what she wanted him to do? Look the other way? _Let it go?_ He took a sip of his drink and set the glass down so hard on the counter that a little of the amber liquid splashed out onto the bar. He couldn't do that. He would do anything in his power for Pam Beesly, and quite a few things beyond his power, but he couldn't do _that_.

But, really, what _could_ he do? What right did he have to tell _her_ what to do? As the friend, little. As the man who was not-so-secretly and soul-crushingly in love with her, none. She was stubborn, that girl, deceptively tough when pushed. If Jim pushed her too hard right now, no matter that he was pushing her toward freedom, she was apt to fight him. To give Roy another chance. Jim shuddered at the thought, and at her words from two hours before: _"…we're just having a little disagreement, we're going to go have coffee and try to work it out, okay?"_ That slight edge of hysteria in her voice, a dead giveaway that she knew he knew but hoped in spite of herself that she could convince him he was mistaken.

And then something occurred to him that froze his blood in his veins. Chilled, he sucked down the last of his drink in one swig, tossed a tip on the counter, and walked stiffly to his car. This time it was his hands that shook as he fumbled to put the key in the ignition.

_What if this wasn't the first time?_

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She had told herself she wouldn't cry in front of him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Knowing Roy, he'd probably mistake her tears of anger for tears of regret, as if she had a damn thing to be sorry about, as if he shouldn't be on his knees right now on the floor of this dirty diner, _begging_.

The waitress paused by their booth and nodded toward Pam's empty coffee cup. "Refill?" she asked.

"No, thank you," Pam said.

"Yeah, she'll have another cup," Roy said.

Pam's eyes flashed up to him, and he looked momentarily uncertain. The waitress filled Pam's mug and moved on.

Roy cleared his throat again. He kept doing that. It was irritating, and she felt like telling him so. But it seemed to be an outward sign of his nervousness, and God help her she _wanted_ him to be nervous. "Pammy. I know I messed up. I know. You just, you have to understand why it happened that way. Can't you see it as proof of how much I love you?"

The spoon Pam was using to stir her unwanted coffee clattered loudly to the table. Her mouth had fallen open in mute disbelief. Finally she found her tongue. "_First_ of all," she spat, poking a finger at him across the table, "you did not _'mess up.'_ 'Messing up' is forgetting Valentine's Day, or falling asleep during sex. Coming home drunk and picking a fight with your fiancée because she doesn't want to sleep with you while you smell like a brewery is _not_ messing up. Slamming your fiancée into the wall so hard she has a bruise on the back of her head is not messing up. _This_," she touched the skin under her left eye, "is not messing up. _You didn't mess up, Roy, you beat me up!"_

He looked horrified, stricken, as his eyes swept the noisy diner for witnesses to her outburst. Then his teeth clenched, and he grabbed the thin wrist that was still outstretched, her finger still pointing and accusing. "Pam, cut it out. _Keep your voice down_," he hissed through his teeth.

She paid no attention. "And for you to tell me to take it as proof that you love me? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Listen to me," he gritted out, aiming for something that was not anger but failing. "It won't happen again. I swear. I'm not some kind of monster, Pam, you _know_ that. You _know_ me."

She tugged at her hand until he opened his fist and released her. "I have to go, Roy. I'm not ready to … I'm not ready to forgive you yet. I don't know when I will be—if I ever will be. I just know that right now, I can't. Okay? I just … I have to go."

She grabbed her coat and slipped out of the booth, relieved that she'd insisted on following him over to the diner from the office. In the parking lot, tears flooded her eyes as she fumbled with her keys; she had cried more in the past two days than she cared to admit, and she just wanted to stop. To go back to the day before Roy had used her as a punching bag, before she had ever had occasion to see Jim look at her as if she were drowning right in front of him, to planning her stupid wedding and laughing her way through the workweek with her best friend…

She half expected Roy to appear behind her. Part of her was just waiting for it as she stood there like an idiot beside her car, trying to find the right key with cold and shaking hands. He would grab her arm, pin her against the car, she would see the blind rage that had possessed him that night, made somehow more terrifying in a public place and without the smell of liquor on his breath.

Then she was in the car, doors locked, backing out of the parking lot, heading home. She turned up the radio, found the first song she knew the words to, and sang along at the top of her lungs. It kept the tears at bay, and she was _so tired_ of crying.

She stayed in the car until the song was over, even though by then she was already parked in front of her apartment complex. Only when the last strains of the song had faded did she turn off the engine and get out.

"Toto—an underappreciated band if ever there was one."

Pam gasped and spun around. Jim was two parking spaces away, leaning against his car and giving her a small, crooked, apologetic smile. "What can I say?" she asked seriously, not missing a beat in spite of being startled. "I do miss the rains down in Africa."

His smile widened. "Oh, God, who doesn't?"

It was weak banter, but it was closer to normal than their last encounter had been, and Pam welcomed it. She started for the stairwell that led to her apartment, calling back over her shoulder, "You coming in, Halpert, or you just gonna stand there scaring my neighbors?"

"Both options sound tempting," he said, but she heard him fall into step behind her. For the first time in days, she felt safe and warm.

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**TBC ... review please! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey there, thanks for the reviews! My goal is always to keep the characters in character, which can be difficult when the subject matter is so far from anything that's been dealt with on the show. So reassurances that I'm in the ballpark are much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you do, please let me know. Shameless though it is, reviews will guarantee a quicker update, because telling a story is no fun unless someone is listening. And liking. **

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She had expected the talk to turn serious the moment he stepped into her apartment. She thought she would offer him a beer and he'd say sure, thanks, and when she brought it to him and settled next to him on the couch he would give her That Look and she might even start _crying_ again, and this good feeling would go away like it had never existed. That's what she expected—but then, when it didn't happen that way, she remembered that this was Jim.

She tossed him a beer—one of Roy's, which Jim noted but didn't comment on—and poured herself a glass of wine before joining him on the couch. They sat in the dim living room on opposite ends of the couch, the TV tuned to some inane sitcom that really served as background noise.

"So what ended up happening with Dwight's Rolodex?" she asked.

Jim smiled. "You wouldn't be suggesting that I had something to do with the vanishing contact cards, would you, Beesly?"

"Oh, of course not. I wouldn't dream of it."

"Well, _thank goodness_, he found them." Jim paused for effect. "Alphabetized, all around the office. Connor, in the conference room; Valdecki, in the vending machine; Edwards, taped to the elevator doors. My personal favorite, Uriel—in the urinal."

Pam laughed, applauding appreciatively. "Well played, Halpert."

He shrugged modestly. "Eh, not one of my best."

"By whose standards?"

"If a prank on Dwight doesn't even get a few giggles out of the receptionist, I have to chalk it up to a loss."

She frowned at him. "I'm surprised at you, Jim. You've lost the mission. Driving Dwight crazy is its own reward."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, that's still a perk. I'm just sort of hopelessly addicted to making you laugh."

Pam felt a warm rush as her cheeks colored slightly, and was glad she hadn't bothered to turn on the lamps. "Well," she said, "Lucky for you, you're funnier than Michael."

"Come _on_, really? 'That's what she said?' Comedic _gold_."

"True, that never gets old no matter how many times a day I hear it. Twenty-six is the current record, in case you were wondering."

"You counted," he said, grinning. "I love that you counted."

Pam shrugged. "The job is multifaceted. Not just anyone is fit to be a receptionist at Dunder-Mifflin Scranton branch, you know."

"I should say not."

They both fell momentarily silent, and Pam felt the seriousness creeping in. "Wanna watch a movie?" she blurted out, desperate to keep that subject at bay for now, forever. "I rented Fargo, and Roy ref—refuses … to watch it again …" She bit down on her lip as her sentence trailed off weakly, wanting to erase the words, to banish the elephant that she had just ushered into the room.

Jim did it for her. His face breaking out in a wide, easy grin, he hopped off the couch and knelt next to her DVD player. "You don't have to ask me twice," he said. "Toss it."

She giggled and threw the movie case, Frisbee-style, toward him. He ducked and caught it over his head between his fingers at the same time.

"Hey, you trying to decapitate me?" he asked.

"You said toss it!"

"I didn't mean at my face."

"Sorry. You know I'm not that coordinated."

"Yeah, lucky for you I have good reflexes." He put the movie in, slid the pocket closed, and rejoined her, this time sitting close enough to put his arm on the back of the couch, vaguely encircling her shoulders. It was distracting, this almost-touch, in the best possible way. She kept stealing sidelong glances at him as the movie played and both of them added their commentary to the events unfolding on the screen. She could feel him doing the same, when her eyes were trained on the TV. She wished the movie had a longer run time. A couple of years, conservatively; or maybe forever.

Of course, nothing is forever. The sudden, violent knock at the door didn't even make her flinch, and Pam knew she had been expecting this, deep down, the whole time. Jim pressed the Pause button and looked over at her. His jaw was tight, all traces of his trademark good humor gone from his eyes. She had to force herself to meet them.

"I—I don't know what to do," she said weakly.

"I do," Jim said, standing up.

She caught his hand and tugged at it until he sat back down. "Jim, please. You can't. I can't let you." Her urgent whisper stabbed him in the heart. She was afraid, and her fear did strange and overwhelming things to him. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.

"Pam!" Roy's voice, between barrages of knocks. "Pam, let me in. I just want to talk to you. Please baby. I'm not going anywhere until you let me in."

"Jim, will you please go in the bedroom for a minute?" she asked on impulse. "He means it, he won't leave. My neighbors—"

"Let me talk to him," Jim said, his voice strained with suppressed emotion. "Pam, I won't do anything stupid, just let me open the door."

"No," she said. "I can't."

Jim stood there for a long moment, his eyes locked on hers, an unreadable expression clouding them. Then he turned and walked into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Pam put the chain on before opening the door to its full allowance. "You woke me up," she said through the crack. "Go home, Roy."

"Not until you talk to me. Come on, Pam, open the door."

"We talked already, Roy. I told you how I feel."

"Yeah, and you said you don't know. I'm trying to help you _know_." He was drunk, his words slightly slurred and his eyes bloodshot with what might have been equal parts tears and alcohol.

"I said I need time," she said, trying to keep her voice even, and low. She was very aware of Jim's presence in the next room. "I said I'm not ready. I don't know when I will be, but this—you showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night and yelling at me through the door—that's not helping your case any. Okay? Just go."

"I'll go if you promise to see me tomorrow," he said. "We can meet for lunch; I'll take you to dinner, whatever. Just … I need face time, Pam. You owe me that much. You owe _us_ that much."

She sighed, wanting to tell him about all the things _he_ owed, but too spent to even begin. "Okay," she relented. "Call me tomorrow; we'll meet somewhere. I'll hear you out, and _you'll hear me_."

He took a deep breath. "That's good," he said, relieved. "That's good, that's what I want. Tomorrow, then. And Pammy?" He pressed his palm against the door so she couldn't close it the rest of the way.

She kept her eyes closed. "What?"

"I love you. You know that, right?"

And in spite of herself, she nodded. "Yeah, I know. Good night, Roy."

Several moments went by before she heard his heavy footsteps fading down the breezeway. She leaned with her back against the door, trying to compose herself. The bedroom door opened and Jim came out. He didn't look directly at her as he picked his coat up off the back of the couch and shrugged into it.

"You're going?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, I think I should."

She nodded, but tears were filling her eyes. "The movie wasn't over…"

His smile was thin and brittle, not a Jim smile at all. "It's okay, I've seen it a million times. I'll, ah, get out of your hair. Let you get some sleep or … whatever."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Um. Are you—are you mad at me?"

He answered too quickly, too lightly. "Of course not, why would I be?" Going to the window that overlooked the breezeway and beyond that, the parking lot, he pulled one slat of the blinds up with his finger and peered out. "Looks like the coast is clear," he said. "See you Monday?"

"Jim." A note of desperation, of pleading, crept into her tone.

He shook his head. "I'm not mad at you, Beesly," he said, still not looking at her, not _really_. "But I can't pretend that this is okay."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she said. "I don't know what I'm _supposed_ to do."

Finally, he met her eyes, pausing in front of her. His hand brushed softly against her temple, moving a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, so, so gently. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she looked up at him.

"I want nothing more than to help you figure that out, Pam. But as much as I hate it, it has to be your decision. You know where to find me."

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, and then he was gone. She sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, and allowed herself to cry again.

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**Please feed the writer. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh, the angst! I'm sorry, I love angst. Especially if I know it's going to lighten up in the end. And it will. I think. But I'm not sure when. Thank you for the reviews and the encouragement on the last chapter. If you're still reading and enjoying, please let me know. **

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It was still dark when Jim got to work Monday morning. He hadn't slept well all weekend. Every time he closed his eyes a horribly vivid mental one-act played out in his mind. It changed up slightly from time to time, but always he watched helplessly as Roy's rough hands grasped her arms, fingers digging into delicate flesh, and slung her around like a ragdoll. Jim would lie there with his fists clenched so hard he left deep fingernail impressions in his own palms. Once, during a particularly bad vision, he'd thrown the covers off, stood up, and slammed his own fist into the wall hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. Then he sank back down onto the edge of the bed, ran his hands through his hair, and fought the urge to call her in the middle of the night and tell her to leave him, for God's sake, just tell the bastard to get out of her life once and for all because he would _never_ understand or appreciate what he had in her.

By Monday morning Jim had reached a conclusion. He had made a decision, one that scared the hell out of him, and that's what had pulled him from fitful slumber this morning before the sun had even considered coming up, what had driven him to shower, shave, dress, and drive to the office before anyone else would be there. What had him drinking coffee in the dark at his desk—he hadn't bothered and couldn't bear to turn the harsh fluorescents on—and staring expressionlessly at the space she would occupy in a couple of hours.

He tried to wait there because part of him wanted to put this off as long as possible. But it wasn't long before he found himself on the bench in the little lobby next to the bank of elevators and Hank's security desk. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, he thought, only potentially a hell of a lot more painful. Like dousing a fresh surgical incision with battery acid.

He tried to look casual as coworkers and other building dwellers drifted past him, muttering monotonous Monday "morning"s as they waited for the elevators. He could only hope vaguely that Michael wouldn't get here before Pam did. He didn't have the stomach for Michael, not this early, not today.

Then he glanced out the glass doors and saw what he'd more or less been waiting for, but which nonetheless made his stomach drop and his heart triple its rhythm. Roy's truck had swept into the lot, and she was climbing out of the passenger seat. Jim couldn't look away as Roy came around to her side and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the lips and—no mercy in the world for Jim today—a playful slap on the ass. She smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes. Jim knew. He knew her smiles, the real ones mostly, and the kind that didn't crinkle the corners of her eyes were just for show. Roy walked on by, taking the exterior route around the building to the warehouse. Pam continued through the double doors. She looked startled when she saw him standing there. Something—guilt? embarrassment?—flashed in her eyes and was gone just as quickly.

"Hi," she said, and then she really looked at him. "Jim, what's—?"

"Pam, I need to talk to you," he said, the words tumbling out one on top of another.

There was a pause, and Jim actually _saw_ the wall come up in front of her. "What about?" She was going to be defensive. She was going to make this harder than it had to be.

"Not here," he said. "Outside."

She eyed him solemnly. "I know what you're going to say, Jim."

"Come outside with me," he said. "Please."

She hesitated, noting the edge of desperation in his voice, in his manner. Then she sighed and he took it for relenting. He walked outside with her a few steps behind him. They took a right and moved around the far side of the building, opposite the warehouse entrance. Once out of sight around the corner, Jim leaned against the building and cleared his throat and tried to find the words he'd been practicing all morning.

She beat him to it.

"Yes, I forgave him," she said. "I know you think that's stupid and I know you probably don't understand—I'm not asking you to—but I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

His eyes flashed up at her, angry. "Do you?"

"Yes!" She met his gaze unflinchingly for just a moment, then looked away because his stare was just too intense. "I think I do. I mean, as much as anybody does."

There was a long silence, and each of them avoided looking at the other. Pam played with her necklace nervously. Jim kept swallowing, compulsively, as if he could get rid of the lump in his throat that way.

As prepared as he had been to say his piece, to lay it all out there and bare his soul and have it all done, Jim found himself utterly at a loss. He was horrified to realize that he wanted to shake her, in the hopes of shaking sense into her stubborn head, and shit, did that make him no better than Roy?

She broke the silence again. "He's never actually hit me before," she said, as if that made everything okay. "I mean, we fight, sure, couples fight, but he has never really hurt me."

"What's he done?"

"What?"

"He hasn't _really hurt you_ before, Pam, so what has he done to you?"

"I'm not going to talk about this with you."

"I don't want you to," Jim said, his voice oddly flat. "I don't think I can stand to hear it."

Hot tears flooded his eyes, and he had to, _had to_ look away from her. "You hear me, though, okay? Listen to me and understand that I'd rather be doing anything in the world than having this conversation. Right? Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, and brushed absently at her own tears.

"Pam, I can't _do_ this. I know my role as your best friend is to be there to support you no matter what, and God, I want to, I _do_, but I _can't_. Not with this. You're choosing to stay with him, and that's your decision. I never had a say in that, I know that. But the rules changed for me when he put his hands on you. And they changed again this morning, when I realized you'd taken him back. No, let me finish," he said when she opened her mouth to speak. "It's been hard enough to watch—to see you with him day after day and listen to your wedding plans and just pretend that it doesn't feel like a knife twisting around in my gut. Now—knowing for a fact that he's the asshole I've always kind of believed he was—I _can't_."

"Jim, please don't … What are you saying?" Her voice was soft and ragged. She reached toward him, wanting to fix it somehow, as if she could touch his face and take away the pain etched so deeply there. But he caught her hand in midair before it reached him, and he held it gently and firmly in his own.

"I'm in love with you, Pam," he said, and his gaze was piercing and steady.

"What?" The word was barely a whisper.

"You heard me." He smiled, but there was no humor in it at all. "I love you, and if this is what you're going to do, then … I can't stick around."

He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips against her mouth, her lips slack and slightly open with shock. Then he turned and walked away.

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**Ouch, right? Reviews are love. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Your reviews so far have been just the kind of encouragement a never-so-sure writer like me thrives on. Keep them coming, please!**

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When he disappeared around the corner of the building, Pam slumped against the wall, suddenly dizzy. She braced her hands against her knees and took slow, deep breaths. What had just happened? What had he said? What did it mean? _What had she done?_

She didn't want to be here, didn't think she could work in such close proximity to him without falling apart completely, but she hadn't brought her car and wasn't about to go find Roy and ask him to take her home. He would ask too many questions, demand too many answers, find out the source of her tears or make one up that suited him, and God help Jim if Roy were to fill in the blanks on his own.

So she gathered herself as best she could and went up to the office. It was a wonder no one else seemed to notice the tension, so thick and heavy Pam could feel it pressing against her chest until she could hardly breathe. She didn't look at him and he didn't look at her, and that in itself was unbearable. Dwight seemed thrown off-balance by Jim's refusal to trade jibes, first cocky, then uneasy, finally suspicious. At one point he claimed to know _exactly_ what Jim was up to and to and just _couldn't wait_ for him to make his move.

Jim's response was an uncharacteristically snappish, "Cut it out, Dwight, Jesus," before returning his attention to his computer screen.

Roy came in at lunchtime and asked Pam to come eat with him downstairs. From the corner of her eye, Pam saw Jim throw his pencil down so hard it bounced to the floor several feet away, shove his chair back, and head toward the break room.

To his credit, even Roy noticed. "What's Halpert's problem?" he asked, a touch of a sneer at the corner of his mouth.

Pam shrugged casually, though she felt as if someone had reached inside her and squeezed her stomach and heart together into one fist. "Let's go," she said.

It was almost the end of the day before she officially couldn't take it anymore. She waited for him to gather his change and head to the vending machines for his late-afternoon candy bar, and she got up and followed him. He pretended he didn't know she'd entered the room behind him, studying the rows of snacks with much more concentration than they warranted.

"This is horrible," she said, and her voice came out weak and broken. "It's horrible and I hate it."

He didn't even turn around. "Me too," he said.

"So stop?"

He took a deep breath before responding, his back still to her and his eyes somewhere on the ceiling. "You think this is fun for me?" he asked. "You think this is how I wanted this to go?"

"Jim—"

"No," he interrupted. "Please don't give me any more excuses, or reasons for staying with him. I can't take it. Please. What I said to you this morning—everything I said—it was no easier for me to say than for you to hear. And having it said doesn't change anything, not really. Everybody gets hurt here. Everybody except the one person who deserves to."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Finally he turned around, leaning against the snack machine and fixing her with a piercing gaze. "For what?"

"For all of this, for not being strong enough, for not being—"

He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated sigh. "God, Beesly, don't _do_ that."

She broke off, surprised by his harsh tone.

"Don't make this about strength of character or not being brave enough. When you do that you sell yourself short, and I'm not going to stand here and listen to it. That's _his_ doing, you know. _He's_ made you believe you need him to tell you who you are and what you can do. But I'm telling you now, Pam, that is bullshit. And it's just one more reason he's not fit to breathe the same air as you."

He started out of the room but froze in his tracks when she touched his arm. Their eyes met and locked, hers filled with tears, his with raw emotion that couldn't quite be named. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. He waited, hoping she would find whatever words were escaping her, but when her hand slid limply from the crook of his elbow and her shoulders slumped, he knew she'd lost them.

He walked away from her for the second time that day, and it was not a bit easier than the first.

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Roy took her to Poor Richard's that night, with the excuse of toasting their surviving another relationship "close call." Pam was not at all surprised when his brother Kenny showed up halfway through her second round and Roy's—sixth? Also, two of the warehouse guys happened to be there, and so their ill-conceived little "date" quickly became crowded and loud, crude and marginally offensive. She stirred her Apple-tini and watched the liquid swirl around in the glass.

She thought it couldn't get much worse. And then Jim came in with his roommate Mark, Mark's girlfriend, and some girl Pam had never seen, and she remembered why you should _never_ assume things are as bad as they can get. Jim guided the girl into a booth with his hand on the small of her back, and Pam watched in horror, pretty sure she was going to throw up bright green Apple-tini all over the tabletop.

He hadn't spotted her, or else was pretending that he hadn't, but their tables were diagonally positioned and afforded her a much-too-clear view: Jim framed perfectly between Roy's and Darryl's biceps. He was smiling—_smiling_. And the girl—blonde, pretty—kept giggling as if he were the funniest, most charming guy she'd ever had the pleasure to date. Which, Pam realized with a pang, was entirely possible.

She drained off the rest of her drink and told Roy she was going up to the bar to get another.

"Grab me another Bud while you're at it," Roy said, indicating his three-fourths-full mug. As a thank you, he pinched her on the ass, a little too sharply to be as playful as he meant it to be.

When she passed Jim's table, their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and she heard him falter midsentence. But then he recovered, continued his oh-so-funny-and-charming story, and she was past them, leaning against the bar and wondering if the room was suddenly spinning because of the alcohol in her system or something else. She ordered Roy's beer and another neon-green concoction for herself even though he didn't need it and she didn't want it. She put it on Roy's tab, which God help them, would most likely stay open until closing time. Why had she let him talk her into coming here? After the day that wouldn't die, all she wanted was to curl up in bed and cry in peace and without interruption. But Roy had insisted. Roy usually got his way when he insisted.

Halfway back to the guys, Pam stumbled and both drinks went flying from her hands. The thin martini glass exploded on the stone floor, and the heavy beer stein just thunked and skittered to a stop against—of course. Jim's foot.

Horrified, Pam fell to her knees and started picking up shards of glass. She didn't realize he was kneeling next to her until his hands grasped her wrists, gently but firmly.

"Hey," he said softly. "Hey, easy. Put it down; you're going to cut yourself."

And then she realized, also belatedly, that tears were coursing down her cheeks. He gingerly plucked the glass shards from her hands and placed them back on the floor, then stood up, drawing her with him with a strong hand cupping her elbow. Catching the eye of someone behind the bar, he called, "Hey, Mike, we had a little party foul over here; do you mind?"

Then his eyes were back on her, concern filling them—and making her ache. "What is it?" he asked softly, as if they weren't in a room full of people, as if his date weren't sitting mere feet from them and her fiancé just two tables away. "Talk to me, Pam. What's wrong?"

Before she could answer, Roy was there, his bigger, rougher hand on her back and a big goofy grin on his face. "What the hell, Pammy?" he chided, half amused by the spillage, half annoyed as he always was by the sight of Jim. "Never send your bitch for the beer, right Halpert?"

Jim stared at Roy, an expression that Pam had never seen on his face. His jaw clenched so hard she heard his teeth click together, and when he opened his mouth to say something she panicked. "Someone's coming to clean the mess, Roy, let's go," she said, her voice too high-pitched. Her eyes flashed up to Jim's, wanting to convey apology and explanation and warning all at the same time, but then Roy was guiding her back to their table and Jim hadn't even looked at her.

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**More Poor Richard's drama up next. Reviews make it all worth it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay and for the shortness of this chapter, but I needed to get something written before I lost the heart of the story. I also couldn't stop wondering about this scene from Jim's perspective, so I indulged my own morbid curiosity. I hope you don't mind. The next chapter will move things along nicely, I promise. Pretty please, review? **

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Two weeks ago he'd agreed to this setup; Mark's girlfriend's friend Anna, _just drinks_, casual foursome on a weeknight after work. How could he have known the date would fall on what had proven to be one of the worst days of Jim's life in recent history?

The funny thing was, he was starting to feel a little better by the time they got to Poor Richard's. Anna was great; a pretty blonde with an easy smile and a sweet personality. In the beginning he felt kind of guilty, like he was stringing her along or something just by being nice—he wasn't in the market for anything more than a distraction this evening, and it seemed wrong to leave that unsaid. But how do you say something like that to a nice girl you just met? "I'm sorry if you're looking for a commitment beyond this beer. My heart has recently been masticated beyond repair by the woman I'm hopelessly in love with."

So he broke out the charm and soon allowed himself to loosen up just a little. He liked to make people laugh, and if that was selfish of him, if it made him a jerk for giving her false hope, then so be it. Why should he be a downer for everyone else at the table just because he was still aching all over? It was ok … and then it wasn't.

Because at that moment Pam walked past their booth and his eyes met hers for the briefest of moments and his words caught in his throat, the story dying on his lips. Her expression was what killed him; he had never seen her look so … _lost_. Had he done that? This hard stand he was taking with her; was there really a reason beyond sparing himself having to watch her and Roy build a life together? She wasn't going to leave Roy because Jim wanted her to, so maybe shutting her out was serving only to hurt them both. He could deal with his own pain, had been doing that since the day he realized he loved her. But seeing that pain reflected back at him from _her_ eyes—no. No.

She didn't pause on her way up to the bar, and somehow Jim's story continued as if his mouth was on autopilot. He thought maybe Mark had noticed, but the girls didn't seem to, and that was fine.

He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder toward the bar, and he was relieved when Mark and his girlfriend took possession of the conversational ball and allowed him a few moments to brood. Now he'd spotted Roy, his broad back turned their way as he and the warehouse guys laughed raucously.

The sound of glass shattering at his side made him jump, and he looked down to see a still-dribbling beer mug resting against his foot. She was down on her knees, picking up shards of glass with a desperate determination. His heart cramped up on him when he saw that she was crying. And before he knew he was going to move he was kneeling next to her, holding her wrists so she'd stop it with the glass, already.

"Hey. Hey, easy," he soothed softly. "Put it down; you're going to cut yourself." He noticed as the words left his mouth that she already had; the pad of her right thumb was marked with a thin strip of bright red. He gently relieved her of the shards she held in the flat of her shaking palm, and then took her elbow and stood up, drawing her with him, to call Mike the bartender's attention to the mess.

Then he looked back at her, at the tears streaking her cheeks and dripping off her chin, and his need to fix it was suddenly all-consuming. "What is it?" he asked. When she didn't respond, his tone turned harder, more commanding. "Talk to me, Pam," he said. "Are you ok?"

Roy's sudden appearance at her side was shocking, like being doused with cold water in the middle of the night. His hand clapped possessively on her back, and the stupid drunken grin on his face, were almost more than Jim could bear. "What the hell, Pammy?" Roy said, and all Jim could think was _Look at her you stupid fuck. LOOK at her. _But he didn't, and Roy's next words —

"Never send your bitch for the beer, right Halpert?"

—were all Jim could take. It could well be suicide, but fury had clouded out reason. His hand curled into a tight fist at his side and he actually stepped back for momentum.

Pam's panicked intercession froze him on the spot, and her voice—pleading, apologetic, desperate—quenched the fire that had exploded in his gut. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, couldn't see the expression that went along with that tone.

For just a moment he wished, more than anything, that he had it in him to hate her.

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**You angst haters are probably mad at me, but just stick with me and I'll dig us out. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews, and it's great to know there are some fellow angstophiles out there! Fair warning, this one contains its fair share of ouch. But the payoff is here too, and you'll like where we're headed. Read and review to let me know what you think.**

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Pam had been trying to get Roy's attention for several minutes to no avail. A few drinks in, he always got louder and rougher and even less attuned to her than usual, which was saying quite a lot. She suddenly couldn't bear to sit there for one minute longer. Wrapping both hands around his thick bicep, she yanked as hard as she could. The maneuver caught him unaware, and his elbow slipped off the edge of the table, making him slosh beer onto the tabletop.

"Roy!" she shouted at the same time.

"What the _fuck_, Pam?" he snapped, and for just a second she thought he was going to slap her, audience be damned. Darryl would probably step in, Darryl was a good guy, but the damage would be done. She was proud of herself for not flinching, even if her next words came out rather unsteady.

"I want to go home," she said.

He fixed her with a contemptuous glare that set her teeth on edge. Where did _he_ get off showing contempt? "Come on," he said, shaking his head dismissively as if she were a 4-year-old with an unreasonable demand. "It's early still." He turned back to his brother, ready to pick up the story she'd cut in on, but Pam wasn't done.

"Give me the keys, Roy." This time her voice was surer, stronger.

"Jesus, Pam, what is your problem?" he demanded.

"I want to go home," she said. "You shouldn't be driving anyway."

"I'm not leaving."

"Fine, that's your choice. But I _am_." She held her hand out. "Car keys. Now."

"How am I supposed to get home if you take the truck?"

"Get a ride from one of these guys. Darryl, you'll drive Roy home, won't you?"

Darryl shrugged in agreement, looking casually amused by the argument. Roy, not so much. He shoved his chair back, the scraping screech of wood against tile sounding harsh in the quiet that had fallen over their previously boisterous group.

"That's right, Anderson, listen to your lady," one of the guys taunted under his breath. "Else there's gonna be trouble when you get home."

Roy's cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of crimson as his eyes flashed from his chuckling friends to Pam. He was furious, she noted with a growing knot of dread in her belly.

"Pam, can I talk to you outside?" he asked in a tone that let everyone know he wasn't really asking.

She shrugged into her coat and stood up to walk out in front of him, but he wasn't even going to allow her that small dignity. He gripped her by the arm and towed her behind him through the crowded bar. Once outside, he turned on her.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "Are you trying to make me look like a little bitch in front of the guys? Is this your way of getting back at me?"

"No! Roy, I just want to go home. I'm tired, I don't feel well, I—"

"Oh, poor, poor Pammy!" he cut in viciously. "So you have to ruin my night too. Why can't you ever just suck it up and let me do what I want to do for a change?"

She couldn't help it—she laughed. It was a short, dry, utterly humorless sound, but it shut him up momentarily and she let loose with her own tirade. "You've _got_ to be kidding me, Roy, _you_? Have never done anything _but_ what you want to do. You do what you want to do, when you want to do it, as much as you want to do it, and you expect everyone in your life to go along with it. And God help them if they don't! You never give a second thought to how anyone else feels. I mean, God, Roy, you beg me to take you back and then you screw it all up the first chance you get."

He rolled his eyes—there was that contempt, again—and then waited impatiently as a group of people walked past them into the bar. When the door closed behind them, he seemed to have calmed down marginally. "Look, baby, if you feel bad, I'll take you home."

"And then you'll come back."

"Yeah I'll come back; I'm having a good time!"

"And that's the difference between us, Roy. This is not my idea of a good time."

"Don't start in with that shit," he said.

"What, the fact that we're very different people who enjoy very different things?"

"No, the shit where you think you're better than me."

She opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it. He always brought this up when they fought, how she thought she was smarter and more classy and cultured than he was, how she thought she was doing him a favor by giving him the time of day when really, he would argue, it was _he_ who had paired down, way back in high school when he was a varsity football star and she was a nobody.

"I don't think it, Roy, I know it."

He froze. "_What_ did you say?"

"You heard me."

"When did you turn into such a little bitch?"

"Oh, I don't know, about the time you turned into an abusive stereotype." She held her hand out. "Give me the keys."

Before she had time to step back, Roy had closed the distance between them. She gasped as his hands encircled her arms, thick fingers sinking into her flesh, and then felt her teeth clamp down on her bottom lip as her back collided with the brick wall of Poor Richard's.

"You're not better than me, Pammy, do you understand?"

Tears of helpless anger and pain from her bitten lip sprang to her eyes, and she just nodded.

"Say it."

"I'm not better than you," she parroted, her voice husky and barely audible. "Now let go of me or I'm going to scream."

She held his gaze and watched as the anger drained out of his eyes, replaced by something just as familiar, and twice as repellent. His grip on her arms loosened but he didn't let her go.

"Oh, God, Pam—"

"Don't. Don't you dare apologize to me."

"I didn't mean to push you, Pam, you just piss me off so bad sometimes! You know? Your lip is bleeding, here, let me—"

"Stop it, just stop. Back off!" she protested.

Then a bunch of things happened in lightning-fast succession. First, Roy released her and reached to dig through his pockets for a napkin or something he could use to dab onto her injured lip. Then, someone shouted. She thought there were words—"_GETTHEFUCKAWAYFROMHER_," it might have been—but it quickly ceased to matter because that's when Roy spun toward the sound and Jim's fist smashed into Roy's nose. Roy bellowed inarticulately and doubled over, both hands covering his face.

Pam screamed, as did the girl next to Jim. Jim's roommate, a few steps behind, quickly moved up to his side, placing a steadying hand on Jim's shoulder because it looked for all the world like he was just getting started. There was blood on his knuckles and Pam didn't know if it was Roy's or Jim's. She gaped in horror between the two of them, as Roy slowly regained his footing.

"Halpert!" he yelled, the word muffled behind his hands. "I'm going to kick your ass for that."

"No!" Pam yelled, tugging on his elbow. "Jim, please. Please."

Jim didn't even glance her way, just continued to eye Roy with murder in his eyes. "Better me than her," he said flatly. "She's not much of a match for you, is she, Roy? A buck ten, soaking wet? I would say pick on somebody your own size, but you're probably the biggest waste of space I know. So I'll just say that if you ever touch her again—if you touch so much as a hair on her head ever again—I'm going to make you wish you'd picked some other girl to beat up."

"You think you can take me, Halpert? You gotta be kidding." Roy tried to laugh, but Pam understood that the danger, at least from his end, was over. He might have been twice Jim's size, but he was outnumbered, and in public, and her lip was bleeding. It didn't look good for Roy at any rate.

Jim continued. "Not saying you couldn't put a normal-sized guy like me in the hospital, Roy. _I'm_ not stupid. But trust me, I won't fight fair."

Silence settled over the little group, broken only by the sound of Roy's labored, wet breathing and, Pam imagined, the sound of her racing heart. Finally Roy threw his hands into the air as if he just didn't have time to deal with such annoyances. As he stepped deliberately toward Jim, Jim and Mark both stood up straighter and Pam held her breath. But he just shoved roughly past Jim, bumping his broad shoulder against Jim's in an almost pathetic show of machismo. Then he disappeared back inside the bar.

"Whoa." Mark summed it up for them all. "You ok, man?" he asked Jim.

Jim glanced down at his hand, at the broken skin on his bloody knuckles, and shrugged. "Totally worth it," he said.

"I have to—I'm—oh God." Pam turned and ran around the corner of the building, just barely making it out of their sight before she leaned over and puked into the shrubbery. Once, twice, three times. She sank to her knees, her breath coming in tearing sobs and her body trembling all over. A few minutes passed, and she began to wonder how she was going to get home. Then she felt a hand on her back and looked up to see him standing over her, his eyes warm and filled with concern.

He was going to ask if she was ok, she knew he was, and she was going to scream at him because how could he ask that question when nothing, _nothing_ had ever been _less_ ok? She waited for it as he rubbed small, gentle circles on her back.

"Come on," he said, "Let's get you home."

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Then, suddenly remembering, "But Jim—your date."

He shook his head. "That girl?" he asked, trying to smile and aiming for his teasing tone. "Eh, she decided she liked Mark and his girl better than me. They've gone off to have a ménage à something."

"Jim." Pam's voice hitched, and she felt the flood of tears ready to break through.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, drawing her head against his shoulder. "Shh. Shh, I know," he murmured into her ear. "I know."

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**TBC … review, please, or you love Roy. =)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Anti-angsters, read at your own risk. Everyone else, enjoy!**

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She wasn't talking, and it was making him nervous. That in itself was odd; usually they were capable of those companionable silences that he'd heard somewhere were what separated the intimate relationships from the surface ones. It was the _quality_ of this silence that troubled him, its depth. She'd retreated inside herself. She was hurting—hurting badly—and he couldn't reach her. It was the worst feeling in the world.

When he parked in front of her apartment complex she made no move to get out. Taking his cue from her, he waited.

"Are you coming in?" she asked in a small voice.

_You're kidding. The world could implode and I wouldn't leave your side right now._ "Do you want me to?" he asked instead.

"If you want to," she said a little too casually. "I mean, I know this isn't how you'd planned to spend your evening, so I'll understand if you—"

"Pam?" He stopped her words with a gentle hand on her knee, smiling what he hoped was a comforting smile with no traces of the nervousness he felt bleeding through. "I want to come in."

She peered down with a pained expression, and he realized the hand resting on her leg was the one he'd used to express his anger at Roy. It was caked with dried blood and glazed with drying blood, the skin over his knuckles split crudely in several places. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Does it hurt?"

He spoke in a husky whisper, surprised at the depth of emotion her question stirred in him. "Yeah, it does," he said. He reached up to brush his thumb against her chin. "But it'll heal, you know."

She took a deep, shuddery breath. "It will?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Sooner than you think."

She held his gaze for a long time before reaching for the door handle. He killed the engine and got out, too. She was still a little shaky, from the alcohol in her system or the trauma of the evening or both, he wasn't sure. She seemed unsteady on her feet, though, so he followed her up the stairs to her apartment with one hand poised a few inches from her back, just in case.

"Hang on," she told him once they were inside. He waited as she disappeared into the bathroom. He heard her rummaging through a cabinet, and when she returned it was with a tiny, travel-size first-aid kit. He smiled a genuine smile for what might have been the first time that day.

"Wow, Beesly, that is _something_."

She shot him a look. "Don't mock the kit, Jim, it serves its purpose. Come here, bring your hand into the light."

He obeyed, perching on the edge of her couch in a pool of orange-toned lamplight. She knelt in front of him and gingerly took his injured right hand in hers.

"It's really okay," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "Slap a Band-Aid on the sucker and I'm all set."

She frowned, examining the wound closely. "I don't have any Band-Aids," she muttered.

"You're kidding. _The Kit_ lacks the most basic first-aid staple of kids and klutzes the world over?"

She flipped the microscopic latch on the white plastic case and folded back the lid to reveal a miniature spray bottle of Bactine, a bent safety pin, and two cotton swabs. Jim bit down on his lip to prevent the grin from spreading across his face.

"Damn it! I thought for sure there was at least some gauze and surgical tape, or …" She broke off, selecting the Bactine bottle and prying its plastic cap off. Holding it an inch from his mangled knuckles, she pressed down on the trigger. Jim cringed, waiting for the sting. Nothing happened. The bottle was empty. Pam shook it and tried again. Still nothing. Jim blinked, taken aback, when a sob escaped her and she threw the bottle at the wall. "God, why can't I catch a break tonight?"

Jim retracted his hand from hers and flexed it a few times. "Hey, whoa. Dr. Beesly, look, it's fine. See? I'm fine."

She shook her head. "No. Nothing is fine. Nothing!"

Tears swam in her eyes but didn't fall, and he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to put an arm around her, to slide down from the couch to sit next to her on the floor, to draw her head against his shoulder and hold her and let her do what she needed to do. But something held him back. Something wasn't right. Well, something beyond the obvious. So he sat there and waited for her to make it clear to him what that something was.

Before that could happen, though, Pam hoisted herself up onto the couch next to him. The intensity in her eyes was breathtaking, unbearable, and he wanted to say something to defuse what suddenly felt like an extremely dangerous situation. Some remark, funny, off-hand, casual, something that would make her blink and come to her senses, because he was going to lose control of his own any second now and then where would they be? Then they'd be here, both senseless and emotionally ravaged, ready and willing to act on animalistic impulse regardless of the cost.

Then she leaned in and kissed him, and anything he might have said was lost in the sweet warmth of her lips. His hands lay limply in his lap even as hers slid around his neck and tangled in his hair, holding him to her with a ferocity that even in his disembodied state he understood to be alarming.

_I love you, _he wasn't sure he said aloud. _God, Pam, I've loved you for so long._

"Jim," she breathed, her breath hot on his skin as her lips continued to graze his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry why?" he asked breathlessly, closing his eyes against the surge of desire.

"I'm sorry I keep hurting you."

"Then don't do it anymore. Just … just stay. Just be with me." His hands slipped down to cup her breasts, gently but surely, and that's when the spell broke.

In fact, it broke twice.

It cracked when her cell phone began to buzz against the glass top of the coffee table. And then it shattered when she caught his hands in hers, fixed her eyes on his, and said, "I can't…"

It was Roy, they both knew it. Jim lay against the sofa cushions, dazed, as she picked the phone up and confirmed it with a glance at the screen. "Please," he said. "Please, Pam, _don't_."

But he knew she would. And she did.

* * *

**One more chapter and then perhaps an epilogue. Please, please, pretty please review. (But don't stone me; I warned you of the angst, didn't I?)**


	10. Chapter 10

**OK, those of you who are still reading, here you go. This is the last chapter-chapter. I will likely be back with an epilogue, though, because I have a hard time letting stories go. This one was fun to write, and I really appreciate the feedback along the way. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know!**

* * *

Answering the phone was a knee-jerk response to its insistent buzz. She gave it no thought at all, at least until she caught a glimpse of Jim's face. The combination of emotions she saw there—hurt, shock, sadness, a healthy dose of anger—almost stopped her. Almost.

Roy was speaking before she got the phone all the way up to her ear. His words didn't matter; she wasn't listening to them. His tone was what caught her, rough and heavy. Like his hands, sometimes. She had long since come to hate his drinking voice. She'd been familiar with it for years, since the days when he'd steal six-packs from his dad's garage fridge and guzzle them in his truck before taking her out for a fast-food dinner or a movie. _"Pammy,"_ he would say, reaching across the console to slip a hand between her legs and speaking with the dreaded slur that predicted vomiting and unprovoked mood swings later, _"You're a good girl. You don't have to be so good all the time."_

Now he was saying something entirely different, but it didn't matter, really, as her eyes were still fixed on Jim and her mind still trapped in Roy's high school truck.

Jim's expression didn't waver, and it was making it hard for her to think clearly. It was the anger that hit her hardest; she could count on one hand the number of times she had seen Jim mad, and less than half of those fingers accounted for the times he'd been mad at _her_. But who could blame him? He must be so tired of taking care of her. He must be ready for her to just get her shit together and stand up on her own two feet so he wouldn't have to worry about her anymore.

The thought hurt, almost as if he'd actually _said_ that to her, and she sucked in a breath and turned her back to him. She heard him sigh and then the couch springs squeaked as he got up and moved toward the kitchen.

"Wait," she said sharply, and God help her she didn't know which of them she was addressing. Jim froze in his tracks, and Roy shut up mid-senseless-ramble.

Then she realized she meant both of them.

"I'm not going to do this anymore," she said to everyone within earshot. "It's not that I can't, don't think that. I _could_. I could go on like this forever; I've been doing it for a long time. But it's not what I want. And it's not what I deserve. I know that now." She paused to catch her breath, painfully aware that Jim was staring at her with his mouth hanging open, as though she had just sprouted a second head. "It's over between us, Roy. Don't test me on this. I don't want to have to call the cops on you, but I will if you leave me no choice. I'm asking you to stay away."

She hadn't noticed she was backing up, but suddenly the back of her knees met the edge of the couch and she sat down heavily. Roy was—shockingly—silent on the other end of the phone. She took advantage of the opportunity to put paid to a decade of her life.

"Goodbye, Roy," she muttered, and snapped her phone shut.

The silence that followed was thick and deep; it was as if neither she nor Jim even dared to breathe.

He was the first to break it, even though she thought it was her responsibility. He was amazing that way. That way, and so many others.

And she'd known it all along. She'd _known_.

"What do you need?" he asked in a husky whisper. When she looked up at him questioningly, he shrugged, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't want to do the wrong thing. I'm pretty likely to go down in flames without an assist."

Her smile caught them both by surprise. "You usually find your way," she said. "Just do what comes naturally."

And he did. In a moment he was next to her, his strong arm encircling her shoulders and his lips pressing against her temple in a kiss that almost succeeded in erasing all the badness that came before. He was comfort personified, and it felt so good she wanted to melt into him.

"Jim," she whispered after a few minutes had passed. "I don't know what to do either."

"You just did the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do," he said. "I think you're all set for the night."

"No. I …" she drifted off, steadfast in what she wanted to say but not sure she should, or how she could. "I know I just broke up with Roy, and that in light of that fact, this is going to sound probably pretty crazy. But I know that you know me, Jim, and I hope that's enough. I hope that will help you see that this isn't just some—I mean, it's—I'm—God, this is hard!"

He leaned back enough that he could look directly in her eyes, smiling gently. "Just spit it out, Beesly."

She exhaled laughter and found that baseline of ease and naturalness, the one that was the very foundation of who they were when they were together and things weren't all screwy.

She reached for his uninjured hand and squeezed it tightly in both of hers. "I love you, Jim. I'm in love with you."

There they were, those words. They hung in the air and his face revealed nothing, _nothing_, like he hadn't even heard her, and Pam suddenly felt utterly vulnerable, stark naked in the middle of a busy street. So she kept going, her mouth on autopilot and her clutching fingers digging even deeper into his hand. "I've known it for a long time, deep down, I just couldn't see a way out of the hole I'd dug. And you told me you felt the same way but I couldn't quite let that in; I was so wrapped up in what was going on with Roy and me, and I thought maybe you'd made it up to get me away from him, but now that just sounds crazy, right? And I know by now you're probably sick of me and all my baggage, having to clean up after me and deal with my stupid little emotional breakdowns, and if you tell me no thanks, I'll … Well, that would really suck. But I would back off. Why are you smiling?"

She'd been watching their intertwined fingers instead of his face, noting the way hers fit perfectly in the spaces between his. So she was surprised when she glanced back up and saw his wide, radiant grin. Surprised, but knee-bucklingly relieved.

"I'm just wondering if you're ever going to shut up so I can kiss you," he said.

"Oh." The word escaped her lips in a little sigh, just before he pulled her into his lap and made good on the bargain.


	11. EPILOGUE

The Christmas party was loud and the company ... well, consisted of her co-workers. Pam sipped at some questionable concoction of about five different kinds of liquor and a splash of Diet Coke that Michael had whipped up in the makeshift bar in the conference room and perched on the edge of Jim's desk. She was already feeling a little buzzed, and she wished Jim weren't down in the warehouse playing basketball with Darryl.

Kelly suddenly appeared at her side.

"Isn't this party great? I mean it's so much better than last year's when Michael brought that boom box from like 1982 and Meredith got so drunk she puked in the recycle bin. I think Ryan's having a good time; he keeps looking down my dress. Do you think I'm showing too much cleavage? I mean, it's good to give them a little eye candy, but if you show _too_ much it's like where's the mystery, right? I guess you don't really have that problem, though," she said, eyeing Pam's chest appraisingly.

Pam opened her mouth to speak, but Kelly was on autopilot and there was no getting a word in edgewise. And then suddenly she broke off midsentence, her mouth actually falling open. "Ohmygod. Pam, ohmygod!"

Pam followed Kelly's gaze toward the entrance and almost dropped the cup she was holding. Some of the brown liquid splashed onto Jim's computer keyboard, but she didn't notice.

Roy was standing in the doorway, holding a box wrapped in shiny green Christmas paper and scanning the crowd.

She hadn't seen him in two months, since right after she broke up with him and started dating Jim. He'd come up that day, dressed in his warehouse uniform, and approached the reception desk, his expression tense, his eyes direct and somehow lost.

"Well that's it, I'm done here," he'd said.

She had frozen in her chair, eyes locked on his, wishing like hell that Jim weren't out of the office on a sales call.

"I just thought you'd like to know. I won't be around anymore. I've had it with this place, all the bullshit and, you know ..."

"Oh."

"So listen, Pammy, I was thinking we could go grab a drink or something after you get off work. I have some things I'd like to talk to you about."

"Oh," she'd repeated, still staring, dumbfounded and at a complete loss for words.

"Would that be okay? You know, just a drink, we don't have to ... I mean, it doesn't have to be ..."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Roy," she said, finally finding her tongue.

Something ugly flickered across his face. "Why not? Halpert keeping a tight leash on you these days? Come on, Pammy."

"My name is Pam," she snapped. "And I think I already answered your question."

"I see how it is," he huffed. "Whatever. You always were a bitch."

And he'd stormed out.

And now here he was, standing there with a Christmas gift in his hands, dressed in a neatly ironed blue button-down and khakis, looking almost nervous in a way she hadn't seen since ... well, ever.

Kelly's eyes were still so wide it looked like they might actually fall out of her head. "You want me to get Ryan?" she offered. "He's small, but he's all man, if you know what I mean." Pam knew Kelly was thinking about the time Roy had tried to attack Jim and Dwight had sprayed him with pepper spray. She had no idea about everything that had gone on with Roy since. No one did. No one but Jim.

"No, thanks, Kelly, I've got this."

Pam took a huge gulp of her drink and handed it to Kelly, who gawked openly as Pam made her way among her co-workers straight to Roy.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him brusquely.

He smiled slightly, a crooked, weak little twitch of the lips. "Hey," he said.

"Did someone invite you, or—"

He blinked at her, as if he'd expected something more than the cold tone and scowl she was currently giving him. "Nah, I just ... Darryl said something about the party and I thought ... well. I just kind of wanted to see you."

She let that sink in for a moment. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy. She didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or because of Roy. "Well I don't want to see you," she said finally. "I think you need to leave."

"Pammy, can't we just talk? Just for a minute, and then I promise I'll go away and you'll never have to hear from me again. Can we go down to the lobby? Look, I'm not here to start anything, I swear. I've done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks, and ... I know what an asshole I was. I hate myself for it, for what I put you through, how I treated you. I know it's my fault I lost you, and I don't blame you for leaving me. I just ... just give me a chance to apologize, Pammy. After all we've been through, don't you owe me that much?"

"Owe you?" she scoffed. "I don't _owe_ you anything, Roy. At least nothing that wouldn't get me arrested."

"I have a present for you. It ... it's kind of stupid, I know, but ... I saw it and thought of you."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Please. Pam, _please_."

Something in his expression made her pause. She saw a softness in his eyes that had never been there before, something that made him look very young, like when they were in high school. He looked vulnerable, standing there holding the box and pleading like that.

"You've got five minutes."

He held the door for her and she allowed him to lead her to the elevator, feeling like she was in a dream. What the hell was she doing? What on earth would possess her to give him a second glance, much less five minutes of alone time? It must be the alcohol. Damn Michael's heavy-handed bartending.

Once in the lobby, she turned to him, folding her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly too exposed in her red V-neck sweater.

He handed her the box, smiling awkwardly. "Open it."

She took it and sat down on the bench by the double glass doors. He'd obviously painstakingly wrapped it, boy-style, with lots of tape and crooked corners. She took the paper off slowly, part of her mind still wondering why, _why_ she was doing this.

Inside, nestled in a wad of white tissue paper, was a fancy artist's sketch pad and a package of charcoal pencils, the good kind. She stared at them.

"I thought you could use it," he muttered. "You were always drawing stuff on the back of napkins and notebook paper, and I thought..." he trailed off.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I love it." And then for some strange reason, tears sprang to her eyes.

"I'm sorry for everything, Pam," he said. "I'll never forgive myself for what I did to you, for how I treated you. You were the only good thing in my life, and I let you get away, and now I don't have anything."

"Roy, don't."

"I love you, Pam. I fucking _love_ you."

"Roy."

"Give me another chance."

"I can't."

"Why not? Because of him?"

She swiped at the corners of her eyes, trying not to smear the mascara she was wearing for the special occasion. "Because of him," she agreed softly. "Because I love him."

* * *

Jim's eyes swept the office, seeking her out. He was a little bit sweaty, a little bit rumpled from his two-on-two game with the warehouse guys, and still slightly out of breath. Someone grabbed his arm. He turned to see Kelly. Great. She'd talk his ear off and he would never find Pam.

"She left with Roy," Kelly blurted out, and Jim's heart stopped for a full two beats.

"_What?_" he demanded, louder than he'd intended.

"A few minutes ago, he came up here and she talked to him for a minute and then she left with him. I think he was—"

But Jim was already gone, shoving his way past people and toward the door, the sound of blood rushing in his ears in time to his heartbeat. Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs two at a time. He burst through the door at the bottom of the stairwell and saw them.

Roy was standing over her as she stared down at a box in her hands, and both of them were silent.

"What the _hell!_" Jim demanded, his voice sounding trembly and strange to his own ears. "Get away from her."

Pam looked up, surprise written all over her face. "Jim, it's okay, he was just leaving."

Roy didn't even spare Jim a glance. "I'll always be here, Pammy," he said. "When this guy lets you down, you remember that. You remember that it's always been you and me."

With that, he threw open the doors and disappeared into the night.

Jim stared at Pam, breathing hard, his hair disheveled, his tie askew. "What _was_ that?" he asked sharply. Then he forced his tone to soften. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she said. "He didn't do anything. He was actually really ... sweet."

Now he looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "Sweet?" he spat. "Pam, you've got to be kidding me. Please tell me you're not serious. This is _Roy_."

"I know," she said in a near-whisper. "I _know_."

"Why did you leave the party with him? Why didn't you come and find me? I would've—"

"I _know_ what you would've done, Jim."

"Well can you blame me? This guy beat the shit out of you, and you just wander off by yourself to have a little chat with him? I can't believe you, Pam!"

"Jim. Please don't be mad. I can't handle you being mad at me right now."

"Well I am," he snapped. "You're lucky he didn't try anything. _He's_ lucky he didn't try anything."

She stood up, placing the box on the bench, and went to Jim. She wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her head against his chest, listening to the steady, strong, familiar beat of his heart. She waited five seconds, six, seven, and then finally his own arms slipped around her and his lips pressed roughly against the top of her head.

"I needed to hear him out," she said, her words muffled against his shirt. "I needed closure. I never really had it."

He didn't say anything for a while. Then he said, gruffly, "And now?"

She sighed. "Now I can let go of all of it. The memories, the good and the bad. Because there _was_ some good, Jim. I know you don't like to hear that, but there was. I needed to say goodbye to _that_ Roy. And now I have."

"So it's over."

"It's been over," she said. "I'm head over heels in love with someone else."

Jim's hands slid down her back and he pulled away slightly so he could kiss her. It was a long, soft, lingering kiss that sent warmth throughout her body.

"God, I love you," he whispered into her ear.

She leaned her head to the side as he began trailing soft kisses along her neck.

"I love you more," she said. "Let's get out of here."


End file.
